Hannah wouldn’t devote any more energy to her fucked-up parents; she had bigger problems to deal with, like surviving the gulag that was high school. A quick look at her phone confirmed that there were still seven minutes left in math class. Ironically, class time had become a refuge of sorts, where she could disappear into the lessons or into her thoughts, without stressing about social politics. Once, she’d waited anxiously for the bell signaling the end of classes; now, the trill filled her with trepidation. Lunchtime was the worst. Abject terror—that’s what Hannah felt when entering the cafeteria alone, knowing that no one wanted her to eat with them, no one wanted to talk to her… . Marta and Caitlin may have grudgingly let her sit at their table, but she had been a shitty friend to them. They had to resent her for thinking she’d outgrown them; they must be enjoying her comeuppance. And then there was Noah and his friends, who blatantly loathed her. And Lauren, who remained a wild card. Hannah was like a prisoner released from solitary into gen pop. She ate lunch alone near her locker, watching her back.
But Hannah had a new strategy. She had made the decision last night as she lay in her darkened room listening to the unintelligible bickering of her parents. She was an outcast now, a pariah; she had to accept that fact and find her people … or her person. She already knew someone who was ostracized, pitied, and mocked. She would find Ronni and, together, they would bravely enter the lunchroom, sit at a prominent table, and eat their sandwiches. (Well … Ronni would probably just drink vitaminwater but she may have added midday food to her routine since the accident.) If this were a movie or an after-school special, the other kids would be moved by their bravery, touched by the resilience of a friendship that had survived so much … but those kinds of kids didn’t exist in real life.
The bell rang and her classmates sprang from their seats and hurtled toward the door. Hannah moved slower but she felt less apprehensive than she had in ages as she navigated the crowded hallways to the counseling suite. It was 11:00 A.M., so Ronni had probably just arrived at school. She would undoubtedly be in Mrs. Pittwell’s office, likely being counseled about the seizure Kim had had at her feet. Hannah could use some counseling over the matter herself.
Tentatively, Hannah knocked on the counselor’s closed door. It was possible Mrs. Pittwell was with another student—there had to be other kids with problems at the school—but odds were none were as critical as Ronni’s. When the door swung open a crack, Hannah saw that her supposition was correct. Behind Mrs. Pittwell’s boxy frame, Hannah caught a glimpse of shiny dark hair.
“Hannah …” the counselor addressed her. “Did you want to talk?” There was concern in her tone … and pity. Mrs. Pittwell had obviously been made aware of Kim Sanders’s art show meltdown.
“I actually wanted to talk to Ronni,” Hannah said. “I’ll come back later.” She turned to go, but the counselor stopped her with a hand on the arm.
“Come in …”
Hannah moved into the stuffy office. Ronni was occupying the only chair, but Mrs. Pittwell offered Hannah her swiveling, padded model. The counselor stood, looming over them like a judge on the bench … or God. She smiled benevolently down at Hannah. “Did you want to talk to Ronni about what happened at the art show?”
“Umm … not really.” She glanced at Ronni. “I’m sorry and everything, but”—she turned back to the woman standing over her—“Ronni already knows my mom is kind of … wound up right now.”
Ronni actually smirked. “Not as wound up as my mom is.”
Hannah chuckled. “I’d say it’s a tie.”
Mrs. Pittwell laughed, too. She seemed positively thrilled by this glimpse of humor.
Hannah spoke to Ronni. “I came here to ask if you wanted to eat lunch today. In the cafeteria …”
Something like fear, or dread, or physical pain passed over Ronni’s features. The counselor saw it, too. “I think that’s a great idea,” Mrs. Pittwell seconded.
Ronni’s eyes—eye—darted from Hannah to the counselor. “I usually just hang out in here at lunch.”
Mrs. Pittwell didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve got a dentist appointment at twelve fifteen. I’ll have to lock my office while I’m away.”
Hannah couldn’t tell if the woman was lying to facilitate the lunch date or not, but she could see Ronni weighing her options. “Sure … ,” she finally said, though her voice was weak.
Mission accomplished. “Cool … I’ve got social studies now, but I’ll meet you in there at noon.” Hannah stood and shared a conspiratorial—or was it triumphant?—look with Mrs. Pittwell. Then she left the closet-like space.
The second bell rang while Hannah was in the hall, but she didn’t rush to class. Since Ronni’s accident, Hannah had experienced a perspective shift. Despite the values her mother had tried to instill in her, getting straight A’s wasn’t actually the most important thing in the world. Survival, that’s what mattered. Getting through the gauntlet of tenth grade with your self-esteem intact was what counted. Hannah wasn’t about to fail any of her classes—she wasn’t even close—but so what if she did? The world would not stop spinning. If she showed up late, or not at all, life would still go on. It was an epiphany.
She headed into the bathroom and moved directly into a stall. As she peed, she let herself feel just a little bit pleased with her accomplishment. Last night, she had set a goal to find a lunch partner, and today, she had brought it to fruition. Of course, things could still go horribly wrong: Ronni might not show; they might be laughed at, or even pelted with sandwiches… . But things might go absolutely right, as well. She and Ronni might regain acceptance; they might sidle back into the mainstream, not cool or popular, but accepted. That’s all Hannah wanted now.
Then she heard it: retching. She had thought she was alone, but a few stalls down, someone was barfing. Bulimia was not exactly in vogue at the school, but it wasn’t unheard of, either. Or a student could have been drinking. It was morning, but it had been known to happen. Hannah flushed and hurried to the sinks. She wanted to get out of there before the smell hit.
She was hurriedly wiping her hands on a paper towel when the stall door opened and Lauren Ross emerged. Despite the audible evidence to the contrary, the girl seemed in perfect health. Hannah feared it might be her turn to rush into a stall and void her stomach. This was the first time she had been alone with Lauren since her ugly split with Noah. She was terrified.
Lauren, however, seemed unfazed. “Hey,” she muttered as she headed to the sink.
“You okay?” Hannah asked.
Lauren bent over and splashed water into her mouth. When she righted herself, she was blasé. “Fine.” Despite the unflattering fluorescent lights and her recent sickness, Lauren looked as perfect and polished as always. She moved to the paper towel dispenser right next to Hannah. Hannah caught the waft of alcohol as Lauren dried her hands. That explained it… .
Lauren tossed her balled-up towel toward the garbage can, but it landed on the floor. The girl made no move to pick it up but turned toward Hannah and gave her a glassy smile. Hannah’s heart was pounding. This was the pivotal moment that would determine the fate of their friendship. Hannah had decided to embrace her outsider status, had decided to join Ronni as a social leper, but if Lauren threw her a lifeline, she would grab it and haul herself back up the ladder of popularity, she knew she would.
Lauren said, “I heard your mom saw Ronni’s eye and had a breakdown.”
“Kinda …”
Their eyes met, and Lauren smiled. “Ronni is pretty fucking scary.”
As enamored as she still was with Lauren, Hannah could not overtly betray Ronni, not now. “It doesn’t look that bad, actually. You get used to it.”
Lauren shuddered to convey that she would never get used to it. Then she said, “Is your mom okay?”
Hannah was warmed by the concern. “She’s fine. She’s just been under a lot of stress.”
“I heard she was like seizuring all over the floor. So embarrassing.” There was no
empathy in Lauren’s tone and her lips twitched with amusement. The girl was enjoying this. She wasn’t interested in reviving their friendship; she was only engaging Hannah to mock her.
Anger filled Hannah’s chest, constricted her throat, and colored her cheeks. Lauren was cruel and stupid, and Hannah hated her. But she hated herself more. She had stood there, waiting to see if Lauren would accept her back into her circle. Had Lauren deemed her worthy, Hannah would have jumped at the chance. Was she really that weak, needy, pathetic … ? Self-loathing consumed her and made her reckless.
“I’m glad you find this all so funny.”
Lauren had the basic decency to act affronted. “I actually feel bad for you guys—you and Ronni have no friends left. Your mom is losing her shit… .” Her face turned mean and ugly. “And your poor daddy is caught up in the whole mess.”
That sick feeling gurgled in Hannah’s stomach. “Don’t talk about my dad.”
“Why not? Jeff and I are friends.”
“You’re not friends.”
“I protected him. I made sure no one told the police or the lawyers about the champagne he gave us.” Lauren smiled coyly. “And things just grew from there… .”
“He’s practically fifty! You’re disgusting!”
“Jeff doesn’t think I’m disgusting—he thinks I’m hot. And sexy.”
“Fuck you!” Hannah was shaking now. She wanted to hit this girl, to punch her in her pretty, perfect, drunk face. What would happen if she did? She’d only recently come to terms with being late for class; fighting in the school bathroom was another story.
“You can’t blame him, Hannah. Your mom’s a lunatic … and you’re so childish. He had to turn to someone for comfort.”
Hannah’s voice was quivering with rage. “You’re a liar.”
“I’m not.” Lauren dug her smartphone out of her back pocket. “And I’ve got the texts to prove it.”
Hannah’s hand balled into a fist. She didn’t know how to throw a punch; she and her brother had had the requisite shoving and wrestling matches, but they’d never actually struck each other. Kim would have grounded them for life! But Hannah was going to have to learn fast.
Lauren was scrolling through her phone. “Here are his texts… .” She looked up at Hannah and bit her lip. “Want to see your dad’s dick pic?”
Hannah’s fist glanced awkwardly off the side of Lauren’s jaw. If the girl’s face hurt half as much as Hannah’s hand did, the punch had had the desired effect. The scream Lauren emitted verified her pain, or maybe just her shock. The phone flew from Lauren’s grasp and skittered across the linoleum into one of the empty bathroom stalls.
“You fucking cunt!” Lauren shouted at the top of her lungs. “You hit me!”
The volume was bound to bring teachers or a vice principal running to intervene. But despite Hannah’s throbbing hand and pounding heart, she felt vindicated. She smiled at the red welt on Lauren’s cheek. “You deserved it.”
Lauren suddenly realized her phone had been knocked from her grasp. “If you broke my phone, I’ll fucking kill you.” The injured girl hadn’t seen where it landed, but Hannah had. As Lauren scanned the floor for the device, Hannah rushed directly to it in the bathroom stall. She picked up Lauren’s phone and held it above the toilet. If Lauren was to be believed, the gadget held incriminating texts, sexy messages, even a photo of her father’s penis… . But Lauren couldn’t be believed. Hannah’s dad would never, ever do that. But just in case … she dropped the phone into the toilet and flushed. The school commode was commercial grade, built for heavy and frequent use; it swallowed the phone like it was just another deposit of shit.
The next thing Hannah felt was her hair being yanked from behind. “You fucking bitch!” Lauren shrieked, near hysteria. “You’re going to buy me a new phone!” She threw Hannah to the floor and kicked her in the ribs.
“What the hell is going on in here?” It was Vice Principal Wong, petite but intimidating.
“She punched me in the face!” Lauren cried. “She flushed my phone!”
The vice principal looked at Hannah, and Hannah registered the woman’s surprise. Hannah Sanders was not the kind of kid who engaged in bathroom catfights, who flushed expensive property down the toilet… . Then she saw something like realization soften Ms. Wong’s features. Hannah had been through a lot lately and she was cracking under the pressure. They would go light on her … Hannah hoped.
“Both of you, in my office,” VP Wong barked.
As Hannah followed the petite authoritarian down the hall, she pondered her fate. Expulsion? Probably overkill. But suspension was definitely in the cards, for both her and Lauren. High school protocols didn’t factor in who threw the first punch or who was provoked when doling out punishment. Kim was going to lose her mind when she got the call. Neither Hannah nor Aidan had ever received a disciplinary call home.
But when Hannah glanced over at Lauren and saw the welt rising along her jawline, she knew it was all worth it. Whatever happened to her now, she had done the right thing. It wasn’t until they reached the office doorway that Hannah realized: she was going to stand up Ronni for lunch today.
jeff
SIXTY-FIVE DAYS AFTER
Jeff marched into the house and crashed right into the wall of tension pervading the space. Kim had called him at the office and insisted he come home immediately. She wouldn’t tell him why, just that no one was hurt, but it was serious. “I’ve got meetings,” he’d tried, but his wife had been adamant. If this was something like finding porn sites in Aidan’s browser history, or texts full of swearing on Hannah’s phone, he would lose it. But Kim had gained some perspective since Ronni’s accident.
The energy in the house was dark and heavy, and Jeff knew this wasn’t just Kim overreacting. He found his wife and daughter in the kitchen. Kim stood near the center island nursing a glass of white wine (it was barely two in the afternoon—not a good sign). Hannah perched on a barstool, her nose red, her eyes glassy, and her general demeanor one of emotional exhaustion. Something bad had happened.
“Your daughter’s been suspended for fighting,” Kim blurted, taking a gulp of wine.
“What?” Jeff looked at Hannah, who was staring blankly at the butcher-block countertop.
“I just got back from the vice principal’s office,” Kim elaborated. “Your darling girl punched Lauren Ross in the face.”
Jesus Christ. Hannah had attacked Lauren? Why? He knew he couldn’t ask. He looked at Hannah again, sitting still and quiet. “I thought you two were friends.”
She looked up at him then, a hint of a bitter smile. “Nope.”
Kim drank more wine. “And you’ll pay for her phone, missy. You can get a job. Or you can babysit …”
Jeff addressed Hannah. “You broke her phone?”
“She flushed it down the toilet!” Kim offered.
Hannah lifted her gaze to meet Jeff’s and he saw it: anger, disgust, betrayal… . His daughter knew. Whether she knew the truth or some twisted lie that Lauren had told her, Hannah knew. She had destroyed the phone to protect her father; she had destroyed texts that could incriminate him. Still … he had to ask. “Why?” His voice was hoarse.
Hannah looked at him for a tense, loaded moment. With a handful of words, she could destroy his life, end his marriage, and change their father-daughter relationship forever … but Hannah just shrugged. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”
“The right thing to do?” Kim shrieked. “Who are you? What is wrong with you?”
Hannah stood. “Leave me alone.” She strolled toward her room.
“Don’t you walk away from me!” Kim screamed after her, but it was clear the girl was done listening.
“Let her go,” Jeff said.
“She beat a girl up! She destroyed her personal property! So we should just give her a time-out?” Kim was pouring more wine.
“This has been hard on her.”
“Hard on her?” Kim let out a harsh laugh, drank h
er wine. “It’s been hard on all of us, but you don’t see us beating the shit out of people and destroying their electronics.”
She was getting drunk now and becoming irrational. Jeff wasn’t in the mood. “I’m going back to work.”
His wife’s angry words followed him to the door. “Excellent parenting, Jeff! It’s no wonder Hannah’s acting like a fucking hooligan!”
BUT JEFF DIDN’T go back to work. He went to a hole-in-the-wall bar near Chinatown and ordered a Scotch. He’d been doing this lately—sneaking out for an afternoon drink or two—not getting drunk but taking off the edge. When he’d first visited a bar, he’d been surprised to find a lively culture of day drinkers, not the sad, lonely alcoholics he’d expected. Who were these guys (they were 80 percent male) and what afforded them the means, flexibility, and desire to go for several pints in the middle of the afternoon? Shift workers, maybe … Or sailors … ?
Jeff sat alone at the rough-hewn wooden bar. He wasn’t there to mingle or make friends—that was considered exceedingly creepy in the day-drinking scene—he was there to relax, to numb himself to the shit going on in his life. The Scotch burned pleasantly in his belly and the knots of tension in his shoulders were loosening, but he couldn’t stop thinking about Hannah. And Lauren Ross. He didn’t want to think about Lauren anymore, but she was stuck in his head like a fly in his mind’s web.
The evidence of Jeff’s relationship with Lauren had been destroyed. When Hannah flushed Lauren’s phone down the toilet, she had erased the texts, the nude photos, any proof that Jeff and Lauren had ever been in contact with each other. There was a chance that Lauren had backed up her data, but Jeff knew she hadn’t. The girl probably didn’t know how, for one. And he’d pressed Hannah to back up her devices and she’d blown him off. Teenagers didn’t want to leave a paper trail; that’s why Snapchat was invented. And restoring contacts was as simple as a Facebook post: new phone, send digits. So Jeff and Kim could go to trial now. Jeff could shoulder the blame of giving the girls a bottle of champagne if Lauren decided to turn on him. It wasn’t even a glass each! Kim could nail Lisa to the wall, could make sure she and Ronni got nothing. His wife would be thrilled.
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